


It's All in the Pants

by Megara Bee (Megara_Bee)



Series: Rumbelle Showdown 2016 [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: David Bowie?!, F/M, Fluff, Rumbelle Showdown 2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2016-04-08
Packaged: 2018-06-01 02:44:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6497716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Megara_Bee/pseuds/Megara%20Bee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for Round 2 of the Rumbelle Showdown under the name "Ms. Honey". Prompts were: David Bowie, Dinosaurs, Book Club.</p>
<p>Things in the new world are going well for Rumplestiltskin, until he discovers his wife's affinity for 80's popstars... Then things start to go REALLY well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's All in the Pants

Mr. Gold could not stop himself from stealing jealous glances across the sofa. His beautiful little wife, flush and radiant as always, was biting the cherry of her lower lip as her eyes studied the television. This Sunday afternoon movie, a recently adopted ritual, was not turning out the way he’d hoped. Usually by now they’d merged into one comfortable lump and wrapped themselves in blankets to stave off the chill of the mansion; and, to be honest, he’d probably also have slipped one hand beneath her skirt in the hopes of shutting off the movie early for more favorable activities.

Today was unpleasantly different, indeed. Unless his eyes deceived him, Belle had started squeezing her thighs together. He could see the muscles working as she wriggled, trying to become more comfortable, or perhaps just trying to better achieve her pleasure. One of her hands was still playing with his hair. The other was gripping the arm of the sofa as if her life depended on it.

He was a petty man, indeed. Anything that gave Belle as much pleasure as this… this... glittering, 1980’s _peacock_ , should give him pleasure too. But it didn’t. In fact, he was shortly losing his ability to sit here and _watch_ as she practically purred with pleasure.

“That’s it. I won’t watch any more of this,” he said, standing. He adjusted his clothing in an attempt to hide the petulance in his voice.

Belle looked at him, mouth dropping open in surprise. “What? Rumple-”

“I won’t sit here while you ogle that… that… sparkly, prancing... rock-star!”

Belle sighed and stood, gathering one of his hands in hers. His anger melted in her gentle grasp.

“Rumple, you’re jealous.”

“I’m…. I… I am not!”

His frustrated cries were met only with a soft smile, Belle wrapping her arms around his neck in a hug. As she pulled away, she kept her hands on his shoulders.

“I’m sorry, Rum. I thought you realized why I picked this movie.”

“…Oh?”

“A dark king with magical powers, rumored to kidnap children, with unusual hair and _unusually tight pants_ …?”

“…. _Oh._ ”

“‘Labyrinth’ has quickly become one of my favorite stories in this world. And Jareth…. Well, I do find him attractive. He reminds me of you.” She blushed, and so did he.

“I…. I look nothing like David Bowie.”

“No… but he bears a close enough similarity to The Dark One to… _get my motor going_.” She bit her lip suggestively, hands sliding down his chest. Where had she picked up such archaic slang? And why did it make his trousers feel so much smaller?

Gold let out the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. He raised his hands, sliding them along her jaw to her neck, then burying them in her hair. He watched the devotion in her eyes as he lowered his lips to hers in a kiss. Belle purred with contentment.

The clock chimed three.

“Oh, bollocks!” she cursed, pulling away from him. “I’ve got book club today; it’s the third Sunday of the month.”

Gold buried a smirk beneath an impish pout. “Rile up an old man and then flee? How cruel.”

“I’m sorry, my love,” she said, drawing another three or four long kisses from him before tearing herself away. “I’ll be back in time for supper. Lasagna?”

He grimaced, but could deny his beauty nothing. “Fine. Over-priced, freezer-burned lasagna it is.”

“Thank you, dear husband.” She pulled on her coat and grabbed her bag from beside the door. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

The last traces of jealousy melted away as he watched her leave. It was replaced by an idea – one more suited to the impish dealmaker than the fastidious Mr. Gold. It was a delightful idea, indeed… Just where had he left those pants?

* * *

 

Belle returned later than usual. Astrid’s insipid commentary on the book’s unnecessary love triangle had diverted any meaningful conversation, but Belle was too polite to just walk out, so she’d sat through three hours of debate. Who was truly more deserving of Catarina: the lycan bodyguard or the half-raptor brooding antihero? Belle had been hoping to discuss the book’s use of religious allegory or the colorful cast of side-characters, but instead she’d been subjected to the vapid ramblings of ten lustful soccer moms as they argued the exact capabilities of a raptor’s tongue.

She sighed as she dropped her bag in the foyer, shrugging out of her coat. “Rumple?”

The house was eerily quiet… and oddly dark. She could smell something smoky, but it definitely wasn’t lasagna. Flickering light caught her eye. Belle followed and found several candles, all secure in glass jars, illuminating the staircase.

She grinned, familiar butterflies taking flight in her stomach.

“You old romantic, you,” she whispered, beginning the climb. She longed to run, but Rumple was always reminding her to have patience, and since this was his game, she was going to be a good girl and play along.

Eventually ( _finally!_ ) she reached the bedroom. Pushing open the door, Belle felt her heart stop.

He was leaning against the foot of the bed, his legs stretching out casually before him. Her gaze started at the heel of his leather boots, shining in the soft light, and shifted upwards over the pristine laces. He’d chosen the knee-high black boots instead of the thigh-high ones she was so fond of, but it seemed he wanted to show off the leather trousers. Oh God, she had missed those trousers! They clung so beautifully to his narrow frame, his thighs and hips, and was it her imagination or could she discern the outline of his cock in those confining breeches?

Tucked into the waistband was a golden shirt, loose enough to appear effortless, but close enough to his body to remind her of each line and curve she’d shortly be worshipping. It whispered over his chest. The cut of the neck allowed her eyes access to his nearly hairless chest, tempting in this or any other world, and the stiff collar drew her gaze up over his neck, where she lingered for a moment before finally arriving at his face.

His features were schooled into a mask of confidence – nay, _swagger_ – though his eyes did not bear the same composure. He was nervous. Her sweet, dear husband… Always unsure.

She bit her lip, but could not stifle her grin. The candles filling the room made him seem magical, ethereal, but she hoped that he’d be real and warm beneath her fingers. He lifted one hand, the other twitching at his hip, and beckoned her forward.

Fuck patience.

She ran forward and jumped into his arms, knocking him backwards onto the bed. She kissed him with every ounce of ardor in her veins. His surprise was evident, his hands clumsy as they sought a place to rest, finally settling at her hips.

Eventually she had to pull away, both of them gasping for air.

“Belle,” he panted, gazing up at her. “We have all night.”

“Oh, I know,” she said, licking her lips. “I intend to use every minute.”

“I was hoping this outfit would elicit a response, but I wasn’t expecting… this!”

Belle laughed. “Rumplestiltskin, once again you’ve greatly underestimated your own sex appeal.” She rocked back, centering herself on his lap and grinding down. He swore.

Belle began to disrobe frantically, unclasping her skirt and pulling it over her head along with her blouse. Her bra joined them on the floor moments later.

“Thank God for David Bowie,” he whispered.

“Thank God your leather pants made it to this world,” she countered, bending over as his hands wandered down to squeeze her ass. “Though to be honest, I’d probably have jumped you anyway. Book club felt like an eternity… I missed you.” She scraped her teeth across the skin of his neck, her lips following in amelioration.

He groaned, clutching her like a dying man might clutch a glass of water.

She worked a path down along the collar of his shirt and back up the other side, nipping his earlobe with a roll of her hips. One hand anchored in his hair, she drew herself back up to his lips.

She only released him when air became a necessity, and even then she pulled his lower lip between her teeth before disengaging completely.

Rumplestiltskin gasped for breath. His eyes had fallen shut and now they opened to rake across her face. “Darling, I feel as though I’m being devoured.”

She laughed. “My wicked husband, you are.”

He groaned again. With a flick of his wrist the candles around the room were extinguished one by one.


End file.
